X-Kid: The Guide to Starting Over
by mudkipsandrainbows
Summary: Nico di Angelo hates himself. He doesn't know where he began, but he has a pretty good idea how he's gonna end - that is, until he falls in with a handful of hard-knock misfits.
1. Chapter One

_Before I begin this tale, I would like to tell you that I am a firm supporter of the LGBTQ community. I'm also a member of it. Derogatory terms and symbols are used in this fic for authenticity. Do not take dialogue and thoughts from characters in my stories and say that they are mine. J.K Rowling did not want to live forever like Voldemort, and Kurt Vonnegut did not think a picture of a woman and a pony doing the nasty was great like Roland Weary. Or at least, I don't think he did. I don't know. Unfortunately, he's dead, so I can't ask him. R.I.P Kurt Vonnegut; you were my second favorite cynic. So it goes._

_This dedication is split into three._

_Firstly, the entire LGBTQ community, whether you're out of the closet or not. Stay strong; we can pull through this prejudice. I love you guys so much._

_Secondly, to the chick in a sepulchre. I loved you first. You didn't love me back. That's okay. Kind of._

_On that grim note, this story is dedicated to you, dear reader, as cliche as that sounds._

_Okay. Enough chit-chat. Let's get down to biz-ness._

**Chapter One:**

It was like some heavenly strobe rave.

Nico di Angelo sat on the side of a grassy incline that sloped gently down to the Long Island coastline, with his jacket hood up. It blocked out some of the noise issuing from the fireworks above, which, ever since his imprisonment by the maniac, whiz-bang loving twin Titans, made him jump and/or flinch. In addition, certain people wouldn't be able to recognize him with his hood up.

Nico didn't really have any particular good idea why he decided to come back to Camp on the fourth—he speculated that spending it in his dark, shitty apartment would be lonelier than spending it in a demigod-filled camp. But after shadow traveling to a spot directly behind Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, he decided there wasn't a more isolated place on Earth.

Percy Jackson—Nico always tricked himself when it came to him. First, trusting him, then crushing on him, then falling head-over-heels for him, then believing he was over the son of a bitch, and then repeating the whole cycle until he wanted to take his sword to his chest and end it. However, he doubted the Underworld would be any better than life on Earth. In fact, he knew it would be worse. He had nightmares about _it_ every night. So the cycle continued. Over and over and over and over. _Big wheel in the sky keeps on turning…_

There was no big wheel in the sky tonight (that is to say, it was a new moon)—starlight mingled with the light cast from explosives, and every time some rocket made pretty lights, every time the crowd of demigods _ooh_ed and _aah_ed, Nico could see Percy's arm around Annabeth's slim waist. And, if he was lucky, he might even see the son of a bitch kiss her on the forehead!

Nico hated the both of them.

The worst part was that this time, he couldn't run away. He was completely drained from shadow-traveling (Sicily to Washington to New York); all he could do was stare in stupor at his skull ring that reflected the explosions in the sky, or stare at Annabeth's shiny blonde hair that curled down both her and her boyfriend's backs, which reflected the lights just as well.

He had the urge to yank out all of her stupid _girl _hair, and push her in the lake, and slap Percy, and kiss him. All at the same time. He doubted he had enough arms to do that.

_Worth a try_, he thought. He could feel his muscles tense up, ready to rise, when he decided that it really wasn't. He'd rather be known as a creepy son of Hades than a creepy, faggot son of Hades. He'd seen what some of the homophobic campers could do. It was better to be respected, even feared, than to be mocked and ridiculed. Besides, Percy was straighter than his sword, be it in pen or weapon form. Nico didn't think he could live being turned down by the son of Poseidon.

Arms weren't the problem. Nico lacked nerve.

"Got a light?"

In an instant, Nico thought of titans and giants and giant, pulsing hearts, and he jumped, accidentally smacking something hard with his right hand.

He heard a groan and a thump. "What the shit…"

He turned to where the voice had issued. A guy was clutching his face and rolling around on the damp, moonlit grass.

Nico cursed. "Holy Hades, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…"

A pair of bright blue eyes peered at him from between cracks in the boy's fingers. "Man, what you got against fire? All I wanted was a match or something." His voice was muffled.

"Well, you kind of, um, scared me, so…" Nico twisted his skull ring around his finger.

The boy sat up and removed his hands from his face slowly, looking at them critically; he touched his nostrils, and then glanced at his fingers again. His eyes met Nico's.

"Tell me the truth," he said slowly. "Am I bleeding?"

Nico blinked. "Uh, no."

The boy touched his nose and looked for evidence of blood again, then shrugged and leaned back on his hands. He cocked his head lazily. Nico disliked him instantly.

"So who're you?"

The son of Hades decided he didn't need to answer that question, so he went back to staring at the back of Percy's head whose shoulders shook from laughter. Annabeth had just given him a sassy remark, or told him a joke, or something.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a side of the guy's mouth turn up in a cocky smile reminiscent of the man Nico hated and adored. "Okay… can I borrow a lighter?"

Nico said nothing. The boy laughed.

"Dude, I'm not gonna sue you for accidentally smacking me in the face. I just need a smoke."

Annabeth's head dropped onto Percy's shoulder, and Nico looked away at the smoker. He certainly looked like one—he wore dark, ragged jeans with holes in the knees and the slightest smirk—like he smiled so much that, even with his mouth relaxed, the corners of his mouth were always upturned.

Nico scowled. "Fine," He reached into the pocket of his black jacket and tossed a red BIC lighter to the kid. Nico didn't smoke, but while traveling, he discovered it was handy to have a lighter along. Better than making fires with a magnifying glass, at least.

"Thanks!" The boy dug into the pocket of his own tattered sweatshirt and brought out a squashed packet of cigarettes. He tapped it against his wrist and selected two, unbent sticks. He held one out.

Nico just looked at his tanned face. "I don't smoke."

"Me either. But I got the cigs and you got the lighter." He raised his eyebrows, like, _come on_.

"I don't—"

"Look, kid." The boy scratched the hair under his black beanie. Nico wondered why he was wearing a hat in July. "I'm trying to be nice, because you have the bitch-face on and you look like you're absolutely gaspin'. Take it."

_Bitch-face? _Nico gave him a scathing glare. He hoped it would somehow light every "cig" in the asshole's pockets, and his eyebrows, on fire, but the boy just smiled vaguely.

Nico palmed the cigarette, and the boy's grin widened. "Attaboy."

The son of Hades watched him light up with mild interest. The boy clicked on the lighter and held the white end to the flame, took a drag, and exhaled. The wispy gray smoke floated up to the sky, where it mixed with gunpowder, soot, and stardust.

The boy closed his eyes and sighed again, even though the smoke had long since exited his lungs; it was swirling with celestial and manmade dust. "Dmitri Auerbach."

"Nico di Angelo."

"Pleased to meet you, obvious Italian."

Nico frowned. "The same to you, obvious Russian."

Dmitri chuckled. "Touché. Here—" and he flicked on the lighter and moved it towards Nico's cigarette.

Nico stuck the cigarette in his mouth, supporting it with his fingers—_that's how you're supposed to smoke, right?_ —and the boy held Nico's flame up to the white end. He smelled burning paper, tobacco, and carcinogens. _This is so bad for me._ _You know what, fuck it_, and he took a drag.

His next thought was _oh fuck fuck this augh_ as he coughed and hacked, trying to expel the foul gray fog from his lungs. Dmitri laughed, but not derisively.

"I guess you weren't kidding when you said you didn't smoke."

"No, I damn well wasn't," Nico wheezed. Dmitri slapped his back, and Nico heaved one last time. The static cloud of smoke floated up, joining Dmitri's fog as well as the gunpowder, the soot, and the stardust.

Nico made to stamp out his cigarette, but the boy said, "No, no, no, keep at it. Smoke keeps away mosquitoes. I mean," (as a few gnats buzzed by his face threateningly), "I think so."

He swatted away the gnats. Nico took another drag and hacked out more smoke. It made his eyes water, but the bugs did seem to clear out a bit. When Nico regained control of his lungs, he watched his companion smoke. The thin white wand stuck out of his mouth in a weirdly poetic way as he nodded towards Percy and Annabeth. "Either way, it probably keeps away those assholes whom you've been giving the stinkeye."

"He's not an asshole," Nico muttered, reluctantly putting the cancer stick in his mouth again.

"He?" Dmitri raised his dark eyebrows again. "What about her?"

Nico shrugged.

"Hmm." The boy tapped his cigarette against his dusty high-tops, and the ashes floated to the ground like snowflakes. "What's your parentage?"

"What's yours?"

"I asked you first."

"I asked you second." Nico responded fiercely. Gods, he hated being a child of Hades. Why couldn't he be spawned of a normal god, like Apollo, or Hermes, or Poseidon—actually, not Poseidon. Nope.

"What—" Dmitri closed his eyes and shook his head. "Demeter."

Nico's stomach dropped. "Um…"

"Oh, gods, tell me you aren't Aphrodite. I cannot _stand _those pricks." He took another drag.

"Hades."

"Huh?"

"I said Hades."

His companion blew smoke rings expertly before giving the verdict. "'Kay."

Nico wasn't sure he heard him right. "I said Hades," he repeated.

"Yeah, yeah, gotcha." The boy flicked Nico's thigh. Nico shifted. Ever since Tartarus, well… he hated being touched. "Now I know where to find your cabin if I get locked out. Thanks."

"Why are you talking to me?" The question sounded much harsher when it hung in the smoky night air.

Dmitri glanced at him nonchalantly, although Nico knew he wounded him.

"I didn't mean—"

Dmitri smiled sadly. "You looked pissed and sad and melancholy and frustrated and altogether D-I-S-M-A-L. I couldn't stand a chance." Nico wasn't quite sure if the boy was making an attempt to flirt, so he disguised his confusion by tapping his, uh, _cig_ against his sneakers, as Dmitri had done. The boy continued. "Why? D'you want me to leave?"

Nico wasn't quite sure how to answer that. Dmitri was annoying, but he was intriguing, and distracting.

"Our parents hate each other," he worded carefully.

"So?"

Nico wasn't quite sure how to answer that, either.

Dmitri nudged Nico's limp hand back towards his mouth. Nico sucked on his cigarette again and coughed thrice. Dmitri blew out a thin stream of smoke before speaking:

"So your dad raped and married my half-sister. Not cool, as I'm sure you know. But, hey, I don't judge people by who their parents are, because they don't always turn out the same. I mean, look at me." Nico did, taking in his sprawling, admittedly impressive figure, tan skin, and dark hair. "My dad's a redneck Confederate and I'm a good-for-nothing faggot living in New York with a bunch of half-breeds. Dude. Me and Pop have zilch in common. I wouldn't like it if people judged me by my related-ness to that rat bastard." He flicked the ashes from his cigarette again. Nico stopped disliking him.

"I've stopped disliking you," he announced, surprising no one except himself.

"That's great. I enjoy not being disliked. I got kicked out when I was twelve," Dmitri added blandly,

"Monsters?" Nico inquired.

"Nope."

"Ciga—" Nico stopped. "Cigs?"

"Nah, son. My dad had been smoking since he was outta third grade. Didn't I just say I'm a faggot?" Dmitri seemed to note Nico's bemused expression and waved his cigarette expansively. "I preferred Barbies and chasing boys to tractors and camo. I'm _hella _homo, and my old dad didn't like that."

"Oh." Nico was at a slight loss for words. "Damn."

"Yeah. It was rough, for a while. But Mom's alright with it."

He pronounced "alright" like "aight", and Nico made a mental note to never pronounce that word like he did.

"How did you come—" Dmitri gestured toward Nico's cigarette. Nico raised it to his lips, gazing down at Percy and Annabeth. He imagined the smoke he blew out was absorbing all his memories and emotions and pulling them up to the sky to mix with his smoke, Dmitri's smoke, the gunpowder, the soot, and the stardust.

He didn't cough.

He closed his eyes as the fog cleared, and, realizing his question was a stupid question to ask, asked Dmitri a different, slightly less stupid question. "Where'd you live?'

"Deep South. 'Round Georgia."

Nico nodded. "My sister, Hazel, lived in Louisiana." He neglected to mention that she lived there seventy-five years prior, died, and came back to life in the early 2010s. He also neglected to mention his fate was similar: born during the Great Depression, trapped in a hotel for about seventy years (even though it felt like only a month), then stumbled out in the 21st century. _My life_, he thought, _is weird._

"Ew, Louisiana. Don't get me wrong," he said, registering Nico's murderous expression. "Carnival's alright." Again with the "aight". "But it's a hee-uge tourist trap. Like this ol' thing." He gesticulated toward the New York skyline, as if it was an old truck he wanted to sell.

Nico's brows furrowed. "New York is fantastic."

Dmitri shrugged. "Not enough trees."

"Dmitri, we are _literally,"—_this time, Nico waved his arms all about, pointing out the looming forest just behind them—"surrounded by trees."

"Oh." Dmitri took one last drag from his cigarette before grinding it against the grass with the heel of his shoe. He glanced at Nico's chest. "You're getting ash on your shirt."

And before Nico could protest, Dmitri was brushing away the little gray flakes that littered his beat up t-shirt. Nico fumbled with his cigarette, and he got an uncomfortable prickling round his neck.

"Black Sabbath," Dmitri seemed to recognize the white and purple design, whereas Nico didn't think twice about it whilst swiping it from Goodwill. "Nice."

"Can you _not—" _Nico brushed away the ash and Dmitri's warm fingertips off of his chest with his right hand and dropped his, uh, _cig_ with his left. The red tip glowed against the grass. In an instant, he imagined forest fires and angry dryads. "Augh!"

His mind still muddled with thoughts of angry spirits and Dmitri _touching him like no_, and pulsing earth and glass jars and pomegranate seeds, he smushed the smoldering cancer stick against the grass with his bare palm, lighted end searing his hand. Nico stuffed his free fist in his mouth to keep from crying out in pain.

Dmitri's voice shook from controlled laughter. "Gods, Nico—" He hopped up, skirted around the son of Hades, and stamped on the cigarette, grinding it into the ground. Nico pressed his hand between his knees, and imagined smoke rising from his burn to join his smoke, Dmitri's smoke, the gunpowder, the soot, and stardust in the sky. Eyes streaming, he waited until the initial sting descended to a blistering throb.

"You good?" Dmitri asked from above.

He gasped. "Yup."

Nico ignored Dmitri's helping hand and pulled himself up. Dmitri raised his eyebrows once again (_Gods of Olympus_, Nico thought, _does he have some weird condition?_) but said nothing. "Well, new friend, thank you dearly for the light and the conversation. In return," he paused melodramatically. "I'd like to invite you to the annual Losers' Carnival, a.k.a Screw the President Party."

"What would that be?"

A corner of Dmitri's mouth tugged upward. "A haven for only the most refined of socialites with Olympian ancestry."

"Really?"

"Nah. We play loud music and drink cheap beer that tastes like piss. But it's a lot of fun. Maybe instead of playing with your emo jewelry and glaring at those two—" he thumbed at Percy and Annabeth, who were now laying on the ground, pointing at the stars. A lump formed in Nico's throat, and he almost forgot to be angry with Dmitri for calling his "jewelry" emo. "—you'll have a good time. Or not. Your call."

"My ring is not _emo_," Nico snapped.

"Are you kidding? It's got a skull on it."

"Hey, fuck you, Dmitri. It's the only goddamn gift I got from my dad." Nico grabbed his blistered hand, sat down, and resolutely stared at the ground.

"I'm sorry." Dmitri said quietly.

"Fuck you."

"I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to insult your ring. Or your dad. Or anything. It was meant as a joke."

Silence.

Pause.

"Are you coming?"

"No."

Pause.

"What about now?"

"No."

Pause.

"I'm going now."

"Bye."

Dmitri didn't move his feet.

Pause.

"I am descending this grassy slope to go drink inexpensive beer that tastes of piss without you."

"Have fun."

Dmitri's sneakers remained planted in the ground.

Pause.

"You'll never get your lighter back."

"Oh my gods." Nico rose. "Fine. I'm coming."

Dmitri's face broke into a grin. "Great! This way."

He ran down the grassy slope, fireworks winking off of his blue sweatshirt. Nico shook his head and followed him. When they reached the bottom, Nico looked over his shoulder at Percy. His profile seemed all light and dark, but even from twenty feet away, Nico could see the sea-green glint of his eyes. His throat ached.

"Nico, you coming?" Dmitri shouted.

The son of Hades steeled himself and turned around. His smoking buddy smiled slightly from a rock a ways down the beach.

"Yeah, coming," yelled Nico, making sure the man he loved heard him over the din of the whiz-bangs and pretty lights and Annabeth. And he dashed toward his new friend—the first in nearly three years.


	2. Chapter Two

_Hey friends (mainly Elizabeth) (known to the greater world as __**notmyname numbers etc. **__or something)! I'm sorry for taking so long. I live in the boonies, so our wi-fi is often a bit spotty. But I've been working on this chapter for a while now, so hopefully it's good. It's pretty difficult to keep Nico... Nico-ish because I (a very not-Nico-ish person) don't really know anyone with his personality. I hope I did a halfway decent job. P.S Cat is a tweaked O.C from an unfinished/previous story of mine. _

**Chapter Two: **

Nico woke up in a cabin so unfamiliar, he wondered for a moment if he finally managed to get laid. He checked to see if he was still wearing underwear.

Then he remembered he was in his own cabin—Hades' cabin.

He was the only person who slept (was supposed to, anyways) in there—his biological sister, Bianca, was dead, and his sort-of sister, Hazel, slept in a person-filled army barrack in Berkeley, California. He had the cabin all to himself, which he supposed would be kind of cool if it was anything but Hades.

The walls were solid obsidian, and the floors were made out of blood-red hardwood. Sconces filled with green fire burnt during the day, but at night, it was pitch-black—except for an Avengers night-light Leo had snuck in as a prank. Nico had never _seen _that movie, but he knew one of the heroes got frozen in an iceberg or something for seventy years. He could relate.

There was one bed, and it was large and cold. It had a headboard made out of lifelike skulls.

There was one window on the south wall that was almost constantly shrouded with a thick, dark curtain.

Even though Nico was tasked to build and design it, he hated the Hades cabin like Daedalus did the Labyrinth. So he never stayed, unless he absolutely had to. And if he did, he always left early. Percy had the annoying and endearing habit of checking up on him in the morning. The thought of having dried drool on his face, morning breath, and the son of a bitch so close to a giant, highly usable bed was unendurable.

Nico rubbed his bleary eyes, breathing in the morning's bouquet of scents—dust (normal), cigarette smoke (not normal), Bud Lite, (definitely not normal), and marinara sauce (what?). He kicked off the covers and was mildly surprised when he saw that, although he was missing his jacket and Black Sabbath shirt, he still had on his shorts, socks, and sneakers. His boxers were pulled up to his waist. He wasn't the least bit embarrassed.

Nico attempted to untangle himself from his black, sweaty, beer-scented sheets, but could do nothing but thrash about like a sentient burrito that was trying to walk upright. He yelped as he hit the floor with a loud _thump _and winced, because the involuntary loud noise did nothing to help his befuddled brain.

The door flung open and Nico quickly discovered that bright light didn't help either. He squawked, winced at his squawking, and rolled on his side so his back faced the door. _ShitshitshitgoawayPercyno._

But Percy would've knocked_. _The door swung closed, and Nico's visitors made themselves known.

"I told you I could find his cabin!" whispered the uncharacteristically raspy voice of a certain annoying smoker.

"WHAT?!" shouted the other, unfamiliar visitor. Nico curled in the fetus position and groaned. "I—COULDN'T—HEAR—YOU!"

Nico heard a second _thump_ on the floor and supposed Dmitri had just collapsed. "Bitch…"

He felt a poke between his shoulder blades. "Mornin'."

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" was the other's reply. He heard a girl's laugh.

"Right?" Nico rolled over and blinked wearily. Dmitri was lying on the floor, wrapped in a printed blanket and wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. He looked like a blind Navajo.

Nico wondered what he looked like. He guessed he likened an idiot who had been suffocated in his own funeral shroud.

He was about to ask why Dmitri was even in his cabin when he interrupted Nico's sluggish thoughts.

"Mr. di Angelo, do you remember my absolutely _anal_ friend, Cuntherine O'Whorelly?"

A short, freckle-faced girl squatted next to Dmitri. She didn't look the slightest bit tired: she wore black hiking boots and a pair of torn tights under rolled up shorts. Nico had seen her talking to Piper and Leo before, but never asked her name. He never asked for anyone's name.

"All right, sunshine?" she said. "My actual name is Catherine, but if you call me that, I'll have to kill you."

It's hard to tell when demigods are joking about killing or serious about killing, so Nico decided to just roll with it. "What do you prefer?"

"Cat."

"Meow," Dmitri muttered.

"Oi. Shut up, Miley Cyrus." Catherine, er, Cat, smacked the side of his head. She had a vague accent. Scottish, maybe? He couldn't place it.

Nico closed his eyes. "I'm Nico."

"I know." He opened them.

"You were at the party last night, right?" Nico's throat felt dry and cracked.

Cat smiled, showing slightly crooked front teeth. "Yeah, but I don't DRINK SHITTY BEER,"—both guys winced—" smoke, or, as the kids say, 'frick-frack', which explains why I'm the one who's in clothes and you're the one who's wrapped up in a sheet."

Nico was too tired to think of a scathing remark, much less say one.

He was concerned, however, about the "frick-frack" remark.

"Dmitri," he rasped.

"Yo."

"What happened last night?"

The blind Navajo smiled grimly and began to ramble. "We drank beer that didn't really taste like piss, and hooch that tasted like rubbing alcohol and you wanted to dance to that one song by I think it was like Bruno Mars or maybe Kaskade or some other cat (Cat with a capital-C didn't actually perform although it would be so amazing if she did),"—Cat with a capital C smiled haughtily—"I don't e'en know so we did and wow you were like Michael Jackson and Joey Ramone combined and I still dunno if that um turns me on or not like the fuck and I dunno I kind of blacked out after seeing your nipples also Yates started calling you 'Mario' for some reason so I guess it's a thing." Dmitri rolled onto his stomach, placed his bedhead in his arms, and conked out. Reminiscence over.

Nico could barely comprehend any of what he said, except for "rubbing alcohol" and "nipples". He whimpered. "Please tell me he's wrong and still intoxi—intalk—whatever..."

Cat folded her legs, criss-cross applesauce. Nico didn't dislike her immediately. She seemed tolerable, except for the screaming when they were so…_ugh_. "Well, Wednesday Addams, you were mostly appropriate until Kenny—"

"Kenny?"

"Short, blonde hair, spotty, Hermes?"

Nico shook his head slowly.

"Uh…" Cat snapped her fingers. "He spikes his hair like 90s Timberlake?"

He was still clueless as to who he was, but he said, "Oh…" anyways.

"—You were perfectly fine until Kenny started playing Snakehips. Then you and Dmitri and Yates were all hype. I think this one black girl was trying to hook up with you. I have never seen her before. Heh," she grinned. "Mortals at a celestial shindig. Heh."

Nico made a lame attempt to string all of his questions together. "Hype? Snakehips? Black girl? Yates?"

"Black girl was probably a confused mortal. Snakehips is like, the best groovewave artist of all time. 'Hype: noun; a pumped up, titillated, or otherwise excited person slash group of persons who in turn pump up, titillate, or otherwise excite a different person slash group of persons'. And holy-shit-how-do-you-not-remember-Yates-McConnell- he-is-my-half-brother-and-the-bomb-dot-diggity-Don key-Kong-com," she answered.

"What does 'titillate' mean?" grumbled Nico.

"Means you're ready to stick that pecker of yours into any warm crevice you can find."

"What's a pecker?"

Cat sighed. "It's your penis, sweetheart." She pronounced it like "it's ya pee-nis, sweet-art."

"Oh." Nico rolled onto his stomach like Dmitri had done. "Why are you guys here?"

"Dipshit here wanted to check to see if you were as bunged-up as he was. Guess you win the award for most hungover. I'm surprised you haven't thrown up. Jared had some pretty strong hooch and _DI IMMORTALES _WHY DOES IT SMELL LIKE POT IN HERE?"

His head gave an enormous throb. "Be quiet," he hissed, covering his ears.

Cat gave no indication of hearing Nico. She stood up and paced the room, scanning the floor. He felt slightly intimidated, watching her combat boots slam against the hardwood floors so purposefully.

While the ginger searched for whatever it was that was making his room smell weird, Nico pressed his nose against the dusty floor and attempted to get his head in order. He didn't have friends. He always fucked up friendships by creeping people out, being kidnapped and held in Tartarus, or falling in love with them. So who were these guys?

The party was starting to come back. There were an awful lot of girls there, so Nico felt really awkward and weird around everyone. Then Dmitri, being the one who gave Nico his first cigarette, passed him his first SOLO cup. It was filled with golden beer. Nico had four of those, two Dixie cups of what Cat called "hooch", and a couple of red Sour Patch Kids. Dmitri tugged him onto the "dance floor"—basically the dusty space behind a beaten pickup truck—and introduced him to more girls (some of which were dryads or nebulae) and a lot of guys (some of them with hooves). They all seemed nice, although some pounded him on the back a little too hard and one guy with a tie-dyed shirt and a beard gave him a small, white button of "candy". Tie-Dye Guy told him it was something like LCD or some other weird name and Nico didn't understand but the hard look on Dmitri's face made him drop it and crush it like a cigarette as soon as Tie-Dye Guy turned away. And then Dmitri stopped introducing him to people and dragged him with him to go negotiate with the DJ, a.k.a a guy sitting in the driver's seat controlling the music system. He and Nico leaned into the window and requested songs the latter had never heard of. He was certain they asked for a song called "Bitch", and another one by a band called the Kings of Lee-aw or something, and he didn't know if Dmitri explicitly asked for a song called "Bubble Butt" but he wouldn't put it past him: Dmitri liked weird music. And then the song by the Baltic Monkeys came on and his new friend taught him how to dance, 21st Century-style, which Nico thought was slightly less graceful than humping chimpanzees. So he taught Dmitri what little dances he'd picked up as a kid. A swing song came on: then, he paired off with this Asian girl who wore blue lipstick and they danced and afterwards she kissed him and—

"Cat?"

She looked over at him. "What's up, Nico?"

"Do I have blue stuff on my face?"

Cat knelt down next to him. Nico turned his face sideways, and his right cheek squished up against the floor. Cat examined his face with the kind of intensity reserved for the study of Elizabethan literature. Then, her concentration broke, and she laughed. "Why, yes, you do. I suppose you met Carly Johnson?"

He blushed. "Uh, yeah, I guess."

"Okay."

"Do I have to date her?" he blurted out.

She chuckled. "Oh my gods, you clueless innocuous bastard." Cat stood, sniffed deeply, and walked to the window. "Carly is the warm crevice into which all the titillated are sticking their peckers. Don't even worry about it."

"What does—?"

"'Innocuous: adjective. Harmless, not offensive'," she explained. She shoved the two halves of her hoodie together and shivered. "Don't you have, like, a thermostat? It's effin' Baltic in here."

Nico was about to ask if she was a daughter of Athena, and if so, if she could smack one of her half-sisters upside the head for him, when Cat interrupted his sluggish train of thought with a cry of triumph.

"AHA!" Cat smiled, and from behind the black curtain pulled a large glass vase—or at least, Nico _thought _it was a vase.

"I'm guessing someone needed a new smoking hole," she said. Dmitri burst out in loud, loud laughter. Cat with a capital C rolled her eyes. "Do you ever lock your doors, Wednesday?"

He had to think about this for a few seconds. "No. Why are you call—"

She cut him off. "Unless you want another visit from the Bong Fairy, a.k.a Jared Woolworth, you might wanna start doing that."

"Febreeze, if you please, or my nose will tease and I will sneeze," Dmitri sang softly.

Nico wanted to kick him (so he would shut up), but he was still an idiot burrito. So instead, he finished the rhyme on a feeble note, "Cheese?"

Cat rounded on the blind Navajo. "If you want Febreeze, go get some from the camp store."

"I can't. There's people out there."

"So?"

"And there's _people _out there." Dmitri stuck out his lower lip.

"UGH." She snatched a pillow off of the cold, vast, empty, skull-decorated bed and tore the pillowcase off of it. She stuffed the vase-thing into the pillowcase, and then tossed that into a large laundry basket that was lying by the Hades Cabin closet. The fitted sheet and other blankets joined it shortly thereafter. Soon, she was climbing over the cold, vast, empty, skull-decorated, and bare bed.

"Nico, I'ma need you to unroll yourself."

"Do I have to?" he replied. He felt warm and secure in his burrito. He also didn't feel like displaying his scrawny chest or boxers to a pair of strangers.

"Yeah."

"But if you're gonna hide the thing inside the other things…"

Cat sighed, grabbed the edge of the sheet, and yanked it upward. The occupant zipped across the room and straight into the blind Navajo, who screamed. They landed in a massive pile of limbs and sleepy jitters.

"Good. Got these horrid sheets here, gonna break this bong over Jared Woolworth's head, and aw," Cat smirked. "You two are all snuggled up."

Nico attempted to scramble off of Dmitri, but only manage to roll over him and onto his other side. He breathed heavily, and his ears rang as he tried to roll his waistband down so they wouldn't see his plaid underwear. "Shit, Cat!" he hissed.

Dmitri shivered, then croaked like a bullfrog. "Thanks for playing Mom."

"Use better grammar next time. 'There's people out there'… Jesus." Cat hefted the basket onto her hip. She walked out, closing the cabin door with a snap.

Meanwhile, Nico felt exposed without his sheet and was all too aware of the arm-to-arm contact with this guy. He attempted to pull himself to his feet, but his vision went dark and his head pulsated. So he settled for rolling away like a log across the hardwood floor. Goosebumps sprang from his green and ivory skin.

"Dude," Dmitri's muffled voice said from behind his blanket. "What's with you and physical contact?"

"I don't like it and I'm freezing and my head hurts and I'm missing my shirt and why are you even here oh my gods."

Dmitri was silent for a minute. Nico shuddered with chilliness and wondered if he fell asleep again. But then, he made another speech:

"Number one: Everyone in this camp knows of Nico di Angelo and his shitty time in Tartarus. I understand you are still edgy four years later. I would still be edgy like forty years later. I am very sorry, Nico, that you hate touching. But, however, I am not sorry enough to give up my blankie, which shall be addressed, hmmmm, now."

"Number two: I have a blankie and it is warm. But I refuse to give it up so I can freeze in your stead. To be warm under this blankie, it may require physical contact with a homosexual male that has a 35% chance of having a crush on you. No. I lied. 39% chance. But I get that you're straight— are you?" Silence. "Uh, 'kay, anyways… I swear on the River Styx I won't force myself on you or anything douchey like that." A rumble from overhead sealed this covenant. Nico's eyebrows crept up his forehead.

"Number three: of course you have a headache. If you got any more hammered last night, you'd be stuck in a two-by-four.

"Get it? Like… like nails?" Dmitri chortled. Nico rolled onto his side and watched him clap his hands and shake with spasmic and utterly silent laughter. "Cuz, cuz, you know, you get hammered, and hammers hit nails, and—"

"I get it; I'm just not laughing." Nico interrupted.

"Screw you, I'm hilarious.

"Number four: for future reference, don't ever drink moonshine again if you wish to keep your clothing, Oh, man, this one time, Connor and Travis took me out to a rave in Brooklyn in like, January, and we were freezing by the time it was over.

"Number five: I am here because I enjoyed your company last night, Mr. di Angelo, and I wished to be in your pleasurable company again." Mr. di Angelo rolled his eyes. Dmitri seemed to be switching from illiterate druggie to British nobleman every alternating moment. "I would like to make your acquaintance when I am not drunk or totally hungover, and the best way to ensure this is to hang out with you while we're both drunk or totally hungover. Another thing known about Nico di Angelo is that he doesn't really have friends, except for Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, those at whom you were glaring last night." The son of Hades blinked. "It's not my bih-niss, but I guess things are not going as well nowadays. What matters is that we're _hombres_ now. If you wanna be, I mean, whatever's cool."

Nico laid silently for a full sixty seconds. Then he crawled over to the closet, pulled out the only thing in there—a too-small orange tee that said "Camp Half-Blood" on it—and pulled it over his head. He then crawled back to Dmitri, muttered "scoot over", and settled himself in a space where he could be blanketed and warm but also apart from Dmitri's skin. He allowed their calves and toes to touch (Dmitri in socks, Nico still in sneakers) and he fell asleep, feeling exhilarated, exhausted, terrified, and, strangely enough, pleased.


End file.
